Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Excuse my ignorance on this, colonel, since I am newly arrived,” Ned yielded. “But might you offer an example or two of Admiral Kolchak’s more liberal policies? I would very much like to believe in his moderation, but have yet to find much evidence of it.”

“Certainly,” Ward answered, apparently not taken aback by Ned’s demand for proof. “For one, the Admiral’s support for elections to a new Siberian popular assembly.”

“Oh, and do you foresee success there?”

“Under present conditions, I doubt if the scheme will go very far,” he conceded. “At best, the body would amount to a rubber stamp.”

“Perhaps another example, then?” Ned pressed.

“Kolchak has promised to transfer the estates of large landowners to peasant farmers, by legal process and in return for just compensation.”

“And where does that program stand?”

“Under development. These things take time, of course,” the colonel acknowledged.

“Yes, sir,” Ned responded with a respectful nod. But Ward’s pained expression suggested that he knew the weakness of his arguments.

“Now, look here, captain,” Ward resumed with greater fervor. “I understand quite well that your government does not share my government’s full support for Admiral Kolchak’s leadership. And as you are new here, you don’t yet have direct experience of it. But please don’t get the idea that I am unreservedly in favor of the present regime, or that I consider it ideal, or even good—for it is not. The goal at the moment is not to achieve an ideal government, but one that can restore order, so that any elections it might cobble together will have a fair prospect without the need for excessive force or graft.”

“I appreciate your candor, colonel,” Ned answered. “As I’ve said, I just arrived here and sometimes the guidance from my own government is unclear. But, at heart, I believe we both want what is best for Russia, even if Washington sometimes can’t make up its mind as to what that might be.”

“Fortunately, captain, the policy coming from London is quite unequivocal,” Ward replied, raising himself up in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “That policy is to support Admiral Kolchak. And I am fully committed to it, for if he goes, chaos will follow. Now, I don’t pretend for a moment that Kolchak is the living Jesus, but he has energy, honesty, and patriotism, and my experience so far in Russia has taught me that, when these qualities are combined in one man, that is a man to keep. Now, shall we enjoy our dinner?”

Ned smiled and offered Ward a deferential nod before unfolding his own napkin. He felt a certain relief that the colonel was taking him under his wing, for while Washington was only now throwing in its lot with Kolchak, the British had done so from the beginning and Ward had led their effort at Omsk. Fortunately, it seemed he would have ample time tonight to pick the colonel’s brain, as service at the Lyubinsky Café was slow even by Russian standards. Though the waiter was quick to bring out a small carafe of vodka for the two men, the zakuski were long in coming and the main courses even longer. Now Ned noticed that several nearby tables had been occupied, and despite the background noise, he pondered whether he and Ward ought to lower their voices to avoid being overheard.

But despite the colonel’s large size, after five or six ounces of vodka his voice rose and his opinions became even more emphatic, especially when Ned inquired about the fighting qualities of Russian troops and their officers.

“The peasant conscripts are completely unreliable at the front, and downright dangerous in the rear,” Ward pronounced with a disgusted expression. “Abysmal lack of training and appalling indiscipline.”

“How about the officers?” Ned asked.

“Absolutely pathetic. Defeat at German hands shattered the Russian officer corps, and the October revolution smashed to bits what remained. Since 1917, honor and duty have been swept away and the typical Russian officer wallows in apathy, indolence, and self-doubt, giving up easily at the slightest setback.”

Ward looked down and saw that his glass was empty. Without asking Ned whether he cared for more, he refilled both their glasses from the carafe and gestured for the waiter to bring yet another. Ned looked aside in time to notice two men at a nearby table quickly turn their heads away.

“Surely it can’t be as bad as that,” Ned replied, lowering his voice. “The Siberians achieved enormous gains against the Reds this summer, didn’t they?”

“Yes, but that was under Czech leadership,” Ward pointed out as loudly as before. “Now that Kolchak has seized power, the Czechs refuse to fight. They’re socialists, you see, and they accuse Kolchak and his supporters of trying to bring back the monarchy. Can’t blame them, really.”

“But you yourself said that Kolchak is a liberal at heart. Can’t he convince the Czechs of that?”

“Not while his Cossack patrons and bloody-minded Stavka men work night and day to remove the liberals from every last military and civilian leadership post.”